


Breathe

by BeautifulFiction_FMA



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Angst, Fluffy Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-10
Updated: 2008-04-10
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction_FMA/pseuds/BeautifulFiction_FMA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes hope is the hardest thing to live with.<br/><em>Initially published 2008</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

Awake again; he wasn't sure if he had even slept. Awareness was always there, listening out for the key in the lock or the welcome creak of the door opening. Now he waited, wondering if something, some sound he longed for, had brought him back from the precipice of slumber. His ears strained, creating faint hums and imaginary noises in the peaceful night. Nothing. There was always nothing.

Loneliness filled the room from edge to edge. It pressed against him, a hard, choking thing that clenched his throat and crushed his lungs, drowning him. The thud of his heart in his chest was a steady, melancholy thing. Strange that he had gone so long never knowing what he was missing, and now... .

He wrenched his thoughts away from the gibbering threat of fear. Best not to think about it. Don't give the worry a chance to take root. Don't let the terror curl around him, killing every good memory until there was nothing but a shell. He had been there before, but not again.

With a sigh he turned on his side, gazing along the length of his arm towards the edge of the mattress. A massive bed had always been a necessity in his life, but now it felt like a stark, barren nation of discomfort. The stretch of white sheets had to end, so why did it look like it went on forever, clinical and cold?

Bare skin rippled in goosebumps, tempted towards shivers by the chill of the night air that danced in through the open window, gliding along the phantom touch of the moonlight. Everything was silver and grey, drained of colour by the clutches of the night. It felt like living in a sketch, all outline and no life, graphite lines tracing his form while nothing but blank paper filled his core. Only city sounds, reassuring hums of life in a metropolis that could not bring itself to sleep, reminded him that he was not the only person in the world.

Sunrise could only be an hour or two away. It lingered just beyond the horizon, just beyond his reach. Yet, he knew that it would make no difference. The world was a monotone thing, coloured only by the pale, sick hues of worry and impatience. There should have been something by now. A rumour, a lead, a whisper in the shadows... . Not this eerie, unearthly silence.

Soldiers went missing all the time. War killed them, eating their lives like a gluttonous monster, laying thousands to rest in the name of honour. Assignments went wrong, carrying them to the cold, dark places of the world and leaving them there. Sometimes they found their common sense, used the legs that they had been born with and just _ran_. Who could blame them for that? Even during peace-time the army was a hungry machine, always asking and never giving anything in return.

It was wrong to say that none of them mattered, all those missing faces, names without a place in the world, but they didn't matter to _him_. They were not his to protect or hold close, and so they became nothing but writing on a page. This time it was different. He had always known, in a detached way, how much it must hurt those families to not know what had become of theirs sons or daughters, siblings, husbands or wives.

Death was the worst case scenario: a body brought home in a box to be buried, but in that, at least, there was an end. A line could be drawn there, and a chapter closed. This, the sickening, horrible cocktail of hope and dread was worse. Life could not go on. It was paused, waiting for some resolution. Shatter or soar, those were the choices. Grief would break him, perhaps this time more finally than ever before, but if by some miracle this could end happily, if somehow Ed found his way home... .

_Don't think about it. Don't, don't, please don't._

Roy closed his eyes, screwing them up tight as a wretched sob scratched at his throat, desperate for escape. The litany was endless, but it was too late. Like a rose blooming in his chest the fear and worry spread, bringing ice with their touch. An assignment in the West, that's all it had been. It had been just another way to keep the Fuhrer happy, to prove that Edward was not a resource being wasted, and it had turned into this. This horrible nightmare that he could not wake up from. He was stuck here, a helpless victim until it finally ended one way or the other.

Ed had been a day late for reporting in, but that was nothing unusual. There had been the normal jokes in the office; the gentle reassurances to Al, who was always the first to worry; the first bloom of doubt. Time marched on, and a day became a week. The office became a humourless place, full of the busy fears that no one dared to voice.

Hughes started calling around, pulling strings in the West, trying to find out something, but there was nothing to report. He had got there, they knew that much, but beyond that they were left in the dark.

Al's worry worsened, fed by the concern of the others. When he had been a suit of armour it had been easy to forget he was human, easy to let thing slip out in his presence because he was so quiet and unobtrusive, even if he was seven foot tall. Now he was a teenage boy again, and he saw every little lie. Bottomless grey eyes simply extracted the secrets from those around him. There was no choice but brutal honesty, and Roy knew Al was ripping himself apart.

_'We should have been together! We're always together! I only stayed behind because brother insisted.'_

His hand clenched into a fist, tangling the sheet between his fingertips as he tried to anchor himself against the tide of despair. Sixteen days now. It seemed like a lifetime.

Part of him murmured that this was why he should have kept his distance. Love someone, and the only thing waiting at the end was pain. Seven months ago he'd let Ed into his life. He fooled himself into thinking it was something shallow and meaningless: the quick thrill of satisfaction and pleasure, that was all. Yet Ed had managed to infiltrate his existence completely. Stolen kisses began to mean more, and the possibility of discovery stopped giving the whole thing an edge of excitement and became a concern.

Priorities changed. If someone asked him now what he wanted, Ed or the Fuhrership, he wouldn't even have to stop and think. Ed. Anything else he could take or leave, but somehow the blonde-haired alchemist had stopped being optional and become essential.

Now he had been taken away.

His throat closed up, the sob that he had fought so hard to keep in escaping in a rough, animal sound as he drew his knees up to his chest. He kept telling himself there was nothing to cry about. It wasn't over yet. Ed could just be lost or distracted or busy, but the desperate excuses were getting weaker with every passing day.

Ears buzzed, deaf to anything but the rush of blood in his veins and the hack of his lungs as he tried to hold back the tears. The world had ceased to exist; there were just cold sheets and a empty bed that could be his grave for all he cared. He should be out there looking. Never mind that he didn't know where to begin. Anything would be better than this, not knowing if there was even anything left to wait for.

He heard nothing – sensed nothing - until the mattress dipped next to him. Cold steel wrapped around his waist, and a cool nose nuzzled between his shoulder blades, both tentative and demanding as a familiar, rough-edged voice whispered, 'Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't – I'm sorry. Roy, please -'

_Don't. Don't touch, don't ask, don't look. If you turn around there'll be nothing there. Better to be like this, even if it is just a fantasy._

Carefully Roy reached down, touching the metal arm that manacled his waist, waiting for it to become vapour: a figment of his imagination. It did not fade. The automail was bitterly cold and tough against his fingertips, the rough edges of the plates scratching his skin as he traced the lines, trying to force his stunned mind to believe what he was feeling.

This was real.

Twisting around he stared speechlessly, mind numb and stone silent. Ed looked battered, bruised and exhausted, but he was there, gold eyes drinking in Roy's features as if he had thought he would never see him again. Cautiously he raised his hand to Ed's cheek, feeling warm skin and the rough line of a cut across his lover's cheek. It was a gentle touch, but Ed leant into it, pressing against his palm as he closed his eyes, relishing the contact.

'What – where – where have you been?' Roy asked. His voice was a broken whisper of a thing, and he saw the flare of guilt in Ed's eyes.

'Tomorrow, please?' he asked. 'I just – just want this – you next to me, here. Please?'

Roy knew he should protest, but there was too much desperation in Ed's request. Besides, he did not want to let him go. Softly he brushed his hands over Ed's body, trying to catalogue his injuries in the faint moonlight. Bandages under ripped clothes and more than one bloody, uncleaned wound made him wince, but Ed looked blissful, as if none of it mattered. He buried his face in Roy's shoulder, pressing himself along the line of Roy's body as if he were trying to seal himself there forever.

He twined his bare legs around leather-clad ones, not caring that his lover still had his boots on and was traipsing mud in the bed. He held him as close as possible, the scent of sweat and stress and Ed filling his nose as he pressed kisses to the top of that blonde head, feeling the stranglehold of terror ease away. Ed had come back. He had come back. That was all that mattered.

For the first time since Ed had vanished, he was able to breathe.

Life went on, and he could soar.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> B xxx  
> [My Tumblr](http://the-pen-pot.tumblr.com)  
> [My Sherlock Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction/works?fandom_id=133185)  
> [My Hobbit Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kingmaker/works?fandom_id=873394)  
> [My Fullmetal Alchemist Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction_FMA/works)


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